


Slow Burn

by el3anorrigby



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Feelings Realization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Resolved Feelings, Slow Burn, Some angst, from tumblr, pre slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: Illya and Napoleon’s relationship progresses from where they’d started in Berlin.





	1. A Thief and A Spy

**Author's Note:**

> Napollya ficlets with little tweaks to the storyline previously posted on tumblr as standalones. 
> 
> Note : Most of the chapters are T rated. Unless stated otherwise. :)

Illya stared at his father’s watch in his hands, the one he thought he’d lost forever. After flipping it over, checking for its inscription, he hastily strapped it on his wrist, letting his trembling fingers linger on the worn leather. The feel of it was all too familiar to his touch. He had missed it when it was taken from him and now it’s back in his possession.

And Illya had to thank the American spy for it.

_Napoleon Solo._

Illya could not believe he was even thinking it, but he liked the feel of his name on his lips, how the L’s rolled on his tongue.

_Napoleon Solo._

Illya looked up at the man across the room and they eyed each other for a long moment, regarding the other with something undefinable. Whatever impressions or prejudiced opinions Illya might have had for Napoleon was now gone. Even if he had waited for an opportune moment before flinging the watch to him, Illya couldn’t find Napoleon’s fault.

He was seeing him in a different light now that everything was laid bare between them.

For the first time for as long as he could remember, Illya realised Napoleon was a man he could actually trust. A man who had started out as an enemy. In fact, that trust had grown from the moment Napoleon had saved him from drowning.

A slight tingle rushed through him.

This CIA man. This ex-soldier, who’s a particularly clever and cunning thief. _A thief of hearts._ Illya let his mind precariously wonder if he had stolen his.

No, it wasn’t possible. Napoleon couldn’t have breached the walls Illya had built around himself even if he had let him.

“You know what my mission is?” Illya asked, breaking the charged silence.

“Same as mine was. Kill me if necessary,” Napoleon answered before turning to reveal the disk partially hidden by his waistcoat which was draped over it.

“To get that.”

Illya took in a breath, eyes flicking between Napoleon and the disk.

“You okay there, Peril?”

His sincere question made Illya’s heart thump an extra beat.

“I am fine, Cowboy. Thank you.”

Napoleon returned Illya’s reply with a faint tilt of his head. His lips quirked. Suddenly Illya’s wary he had exposed himself to Napoleon, that Napoleon had read his thoughts. He looked away from Napoleon’s stare but was quickly drawn to him once again. Napoleon’s eyes were gleaming at him with a hint of curiosity and Illya wondered what was going on in his mind. What was turning the wheels in his head? Illya knew he’d barely scratched the surface with Napoleon. If only he was given more time, he would love to unravel the many layers of this American thief. To strip him bare.

Figuratively…and literally.

The idea of what he wanted to do sent a familiar heat rushing down south of him, making him flush. Illya shifted on his feet. At the same time, he noticed Napoleon loosening his shirt collar, pulling at the knot of his tie, eyes now looking towards the balcony of his room. Was he nervous? Illya was suddenly perturbed by the idea of Napoleon still being doubtful of him.

“I do not want to hurt you,” he blurted all of a sudden like an assurance, like he needed Napoleon to know this.

And it got Napoleon’s attention. He took in a deep breath, muttered a soft, “of course you don’t.”

Napoleon had always tiptoed around people, always avoided showing off his best qualities, but with Illya, it was so easy to expose his real self. No mask. No pretense. Somehow, Napoleon wasn’t afraid of him. He wasn’t afraid to goad him, to push his buttons. In truth, Illya made him feel things he hadn’t felt in forever, long buried inside of him which he thought he would never experience again.

“It’s a shame we’re never seeing each other again.”

The thought was crushing yet Napoleon’s voice was making Illya’s heart flutter. Why was he having this rush of feelings now? Something was going on. But Illya needed to push whatever it was away.

Unthinking, Illya just mumbled _'it is a true shame, Cowboy’_ which made Napoleon smile, and then Illya’s mouth was moving quicker than his brain.

“You are making me think that what they told me about you wasn’t the truth.”

Napoleon laughed, saying, “Ditto, Peril.”

And that sight truly had Illya melting.

He didn’t know he could experience it, that a feeling like it could exist inside his stoic KGB agent persona, though there had been hints of it whenever he was with Napoleon. Their wry mocking banter, the hidden glints of humor. Even exasperated, Illya secretly enjoyed it. He actually liked being with Napoleon.

And it dawned on him then he could have never gone through with Oleg’s orders.

He couldn’t kill Napoleon.

The idea of him hurt, and that it would be him that’d do the hurting, had driven Illya mad. The state of Illya’s room was proof enough.

When Napoleon had collapsed in his arms after Victoria’s Diadema was obliterated, Illya had been so angry. He should have checked on Napoleon after he was hit repeatedly by Alexander with that tire wrench. His _‘I’m okay, Peril’_ had been a complete lie. Hours prior to that it had been Rudi torturing him for information.

Illya should have known better.

“You are stupid. You have head injury. And your heart could have stopped.”

Illya remembered carrying Napoleon from the ship’s deck to the medical bay, remembered placing his hand on his chest, relieved when he had opened his eyes after UNCLE’s doctors had revived him.

“Do not do that again.”

Napoleon had only smiled and muttered, “You’re worried about me, Peril?”

Illya hadn’t answered Napoleon then but, of course, Illya had been worried. Of course, he’d panicked when he couldn’t find Napoleon’s pulse. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience and knowing they’re parting ways after the mission, Illya was glad he won’t have to go through it again.

Yet, he’s feeling so despondent.

“Peril, the disk. It’s best if we destroy it.”

Illya hummed. He was pulled back to the present. They were more pressing matters they had to attend to now. And he couldn’t disagree with Napoleon’s suggestion.

“It is the best choice.”

“So, shall we?” Napoleon said nonchalantly. Illya nodded, watched him grabbed the disk in his hand and followed him out to the balcony.

Later, while sipping their drinks and watching the burning disk turn to ash, Illya wished there could have been more between them. _‘You’re a terrible spy, Cowboy’_ wasn’t what he had wanted to say, Napoleon’s brilliant in fact, but his words were fond and Illya knew that Napoleon knew it as well.

The unspoken camaraderie between them. It was there.

If only they had more time.

But if this was all Illya could get, this brief in between them which Illya could not name, it was better than having nothing at all.


	2. Half Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon asks Illya a question and Illya does the same.

After Berlin and Rome there was Istanbul, and after that their missions together as UNCLE agents continued on until Napoleon started to wonder if his partnership with Illya would be a permanent fixture in his life. They’re effortless together, frighteningly good in fact, and now it was almost safe to say they’re Waverly’s best agents. But at times it could get a little unnerving for Napoleon because he was so used to working alone. Now, he’s getting used to Illya’s presence beside him all the time. What would happen when the CIA or the KGB decided to pull the plug on them? He’d lose Illya.

It set alarm bells ringing in his head whenever the idea crept into his head and it happened again that night while they’re unwinding after a tough mission. Sitting opposite of each other, Napoleon was lost in his thoughts when he noticed Illya was staring at him. He only smiled before setting down his drink right next to Illya’s chess set on the coffee table and cocked his head at his partner. 

“Something troubling you?” 

Illya frowned at him. “It should be me asking you this.”

The look he was giving him made Napoleon think about their time in Rome. It was a spur of the moment but the question had left his mouth before he could stop it.

“I never asked you, but why did you come back for me?”

Illya blinked. His mouth opened in surprise, eyes widening for an instant and that familiar expression Napoleon was accustomed to descended on his face.

“What are you talking about?”

“In Rome, with Rudi,” Napoleon clarified. “You could’ve completed the mission without me. Find Gaby. Be the hero and save the day.”

Silence then ensued. Illya only continued staring at the American before him, the weight of his gaze like lead, pinning Napoleon to the sofa he’s on.

His face was impassive and Napoleon felt frustrated that he’s unable to read him at that moment. In fact, there were a lot of times during their partnership that he wished to break Illya’s icy demeanour, shattering it while watching him squirm under his scrutiny that would give him some kind of perverse pleasure in doing so though he couldn’t understand why.

“And you. Why did you save me from drowning?”

 _Ah, two can play the game_ , Napoleon silently thought. He smiled at the man. Clever as he was, Napoleon loved how Illya’s drawn easily into a mind game, an interrogation for an interrogation. He sat up straight, his mind flitting back to Vinciguerra’s docks when he’d held onto Illya’s unmoving body in the water, the fear when he couldn’t find his pulse and then the tremendous relief when he’d started to breathe again.

Napoleon looked away, the first to break, wondered if Illya had felt sick to the stomach when he’d freed him from Rudi’s chair. The burnt smell of his skin, sweaty and body shaking; it hadn’t been a pleasant sight. Suddenly Napoleon wondered if Illya had remembered what he’d said to him once he’d freed him from the restraints. To say thank you had seemed like such a simple thing to do, instead, he’d murmured, “No one’s ever come back for me.”

And he said it again this time, unwittingly repeating the exact same words, and it did the trick. He saw Illya moved forward from his sitting position, clamped his hands on his knees, his eyes steely blue on him.

“Cowboy, this is troubling you?”

Napoleon just went with Illya’s assumption and nodded. “Care for an answer?”

“I would not have left you. Though I do not know why I’d done it.”

Illya’s last sentence wasn’t a lie but it did not necessarily mean he’s uncertain of the truth. He had his own trepidation of their partnership though he felt Napoleon’s unprepared to hear it. Napoleon, on the other hand, accepted Illya’s answer fleetingly even if it had made him think about the nature of their partnership once again. He thought about the exhilaration and the fear that came from working with Illya, and it enthralled him. He never thought there would ever come a time when he’d actually fret about losing the Russian. 

“Why are you worrying about this?”

Illya’s sudden question came out a little breathy and softer than Napoleon would have liked and his tone of uncertainty made him look up at Illya. He held his gaze firmly.

“I’m not worried. I was just curious. Wanted to know what’s going on in that head of yours,” he finally answered. “Does this bother you?“

“No.”

Illya’s curt answer had come with such finality Napoleon couldn’t argue any further. Their partnership or friendship or whatever the hell one would want to call what it was between them could easily be taken away from him, but Napoleon figured he would only cross that bridge when the time comes. It was the only way to keep himself sane. 

For now, he would keep the whole truth from Illya.

For now, these half lies between them would be enough.


	3. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lying was Illya’s way of self preservation and the only way he’d survive the attraction he was feeling for Napoleon.

They were lounging in Napoleon’s room, listening to some jazzy music with both Napoleon and Gaby enjoying themselves to Napoleon’s mini bar’s generous selection of drinks when Illya warned them not to drink too much. A lull during their mission meant they’re able to relax while waiting for Waverly’s next set of instructions, but his partners’ idea of ‘letting loose’ that night had ticked a raw nerve in him. Waverly wouldn’t be pleased if they’re suddenly needed to spring into action. They couldn’t be this irresponsible. But instead of taking heed of his words, they only ignored him much to Illya’s annoyance. And when Gaby took Napoleon by his hand and they started dancing on the floor in front of him, Illya had to look away. 

He hated dancing. It’s an art he couldn’t master. Napoleon and Gaby, however, have rhythm in their feet, and just watching them together, having a good time while laughing at some of Napoleon’s ridiculous jokes, fuelled an unlikely feeling at the pit of his stomach. 

“Hey, Peril, let me teach you a couple of moves. Maybe later, you can try this with Gaby.”

“I don’t dance,” he growled, wishing he could wipe that smirk off Napoleon’s face. 

“Liar. Gaby told me about your little dance together way back in Rome. It didn’t end so good then, did it?”

The subject was making Illya squirm in his seat. His eyes flicked towards Gaby who was a little tipsy in Napoleon’s arms, and she just shrugged at him while swirling the drink in her glass still in her hand. “Why don’t you let him, Illya? Solo’s really good.”

“Yes, Peril, don’t you want to dance with the lady? Or do you want to dance with me?”

The knots in Illya’s stomach tightened. The American was insufferable. Yet looking at them again, _looking at Napoleon_ , and Illya was mesmerised. He could definitely teach him how to move and sway to the beat of the music without making a fool of himself. But the reasons for him wanting it was dangerous. Too dangerous. And acknowledging it had him horrified. So horrified he’d left Napoleon and Gaby abruptly with an excuse of ‘wanting to take a walk’. And though he knew he should’ve gone straight to his own room after meandering aimlessly around the block for about an hour, he’d later found himself in front of Napoleon’s room once again. 

An awful thought suddenly struck him as he placed one hand on the doorknob. 

What if Napoleon and Gaby had wanted to be left alone? What if it was just a ruse on their part? 

_Tease him enough and the Russian would run._

And then they would be free to...

Illya groaned inwardly. The idea of them together was preposterous but Illya couldn’t help himself. Gaby was gorgeous and as for Napoleon, there were no right words to even begin describing the man. Everytime Illya would find himself getting distracted by the American; beautiful and clever and charming, yet so reckless at the same time, it was infuriating. And surely there was nothing to stop Gaby from having those same thoughts about Napoleon? Illya knew he had no right to be angry with his partners. They were adults who could do whatever they want with their lives. And Napoleon certainly did not belong to him. However, Illya’s feelings of uncertainty grew worse the longer he stood there, gnawing at him, and it made him see red, finally giving in to the influx of unwanted images of them in his head. 

He had to do something about it.

Damn all the repercussions, Illya finally opened the door and entered the room. 

What he saw after proved how irrational he’d been, recognising what the devil could do to suck one’s mind into thinking the worst. 

There were two empty bottles of scotch on the coffee table and a few empty glasses next to it, one tipped over the table spilling some of its content down onto the carpet. Napoleon was curled on the sofa, asleep and snoring gently with one of the cushions pulled under his head. Gaby, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Illya let out a deep sigh. He’s instantly reminded why he’d fled from the room earlier just by looking at the American who was making him feel things he wasn’t supposed to feel. Napoleon’s hair was free of product, so his soft natural curls were unruly, falling over his face and Illya was so tempted to touch it. He’s so tempted to run the strands through his fingers, to brush it off of his forehead. But before he could do so he clenched his hand into one tight fist. He wasn’t going to ruin their partnership with his selfish want and need. It’d destroy him if he were to lose it now. 

He couldn’t.

Swallowing hard, Illya then did what a good partner would do under any other normal circumstances. Slowly, he prodded Napoleon on his shoulder, called his name out until he stirred awake and groaned, blinking blearily up at Illya.

“Hey, you’re back. I was getting worried.”

Illya ignored the flutter in his stomach, blaming alcohol for Napoleon’s poor choice of words. 

“Where is Gaby?” Illya asked the only thing he could think of.

“Sent her to her room. I tell you that girl can’t hold her liquor.”

Napoleon was squinting at him but Illya knew that look too well.

“I think you’re drunk too, Cowboy.”

“Hmm, don’t think so.”

“Then why are you sleeping on chair?”

“Told you I was worried. You looked mad when you left us,” Napoleon said. He closed his eyes again, covering it with one arm when Illya said nothing and this time Illya couldn’t fight an involuntary smile from lighting up his face. Napoleon looked too damn adorable. And it was one of the reasons Illya’s losing his sanity. He shook his head and tugged at Napoleon’s arm.

“Come, I will put you to bed.”

“Will you stay?” Napoleon asked and grumbled a curse as Illya dragged him up to his feet, hauling one of Napoleon’s arms over his own shoulder. He protested when Illya grunted instead and tried to walk him over to his bed. 

“Peril, you didn’t answer my question.”

Illya hummed. “I don’t think that is what I’m here for.”

“To stay? Why are you here, then?” Napoleon slurred, and to that Illya had no immediate answer. Inhibitions lowered, Napoleon was definitely talking nonsense, asking him stupid questions. But it definitely got Illya thinking again. Why _was_ he in Napoleon’s room? Why did he tend to gravitate towards him even if he’d tried his damnedest not to?

“Don’t you trust me?” Napoleon yawned sleepily, leaning heavily against Illya, breaking his concentration. His face was dangerously close and Illya could smell the alcohol on his breath. His steps faltered and if he wasn’t holding him up, Napoleon probably would’ve fallen down on the floor, face first.

Illya tightened his grip on Napoleon.

“I do…trust you,” Illya hesitated for a second. He contemplated what he wanted to say, what he wanted to do. He didn’t have anything to lose knowing Napoleon probably won’t remember a thing the next morning. But he changed his mind at the last second.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he offered in the end.

Quickly, before the conversation could get away from him, he moved Napoleon into his room, settling him down on the bed with a pillow under his head, undid his haphazard tie from around his unbuttoned shirt collar and got his shoes off. Napoleon had fallen asleep again by the time Illya had set everything aside and later he slid down onto the floor, folding his legs beneath him and watched him sleep.

As he sat there, an agonising feeling spread through Illya’s chest. He couldn’t possibly admit to something that was suddenly becoming crystal clear. Napoleon would think it a terrible idea. 

Devoid of answers, Illya then fled the room again, hoping the lies he’s keeping inside would be enough. _It had to be enough._ Lying was his way of self-preservation and the only way he’d survive the attraction he was feeling for Napoleon.


	4. A Little Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon helped Illya after a mission gone wrong.

They were in their suite after getting back from a botched mission and Illya’s wound had made a mess of his shirt. What had been white was now all smudged in crimson and Napoleon grimaced at the sight.

After taking care of what’s necessary, he sat Illya down on the toilet seat and peeled Illya’s bloodied shirt away from the wound with very little protest from the Russian which worried him a little. He eyed Illya carefully as he cleaned and dabbed on the torn skin, his act drawing out pained hisses from Illya every now and then. But at least it was some kind of a reaction and Napoleon, though scared to admit it at first, was more than glad it had not been worse than when he’d seen Illya fall to the ground when the bullet had hit him.

“We’re going to have to do something about all the towels I’d ruined with your blood. Hotel won’t be too happy about it,” he quipped, smiled up at Illya who was staring at him with unreadable eyes.

“It is the least of your worry.”

Illya’s short answer was true. Because nothing had worried Napoleon more than seeing Illya carelessly bled all over him when he was trying to get him into their hotel room through the hotel’s back entrance. He quickly pushed the awful thoughts aside, focused instead on stitching Illya’s wound up while at the same time careful not to hurt the man even more.

But all of his concentration turned to naught when Illya suddenly pulled him nearer by his shirt sleeve as if they’re not in close proximity enough inside that very small bathroom. It wasn’t the first time they’re experiencing this crazy tension between them and he wondered what was going on in Illya’s mind at the moment.

“Peril?” Napoleon eyed him questioningly. “What’s wrong?”

“When I was shot, I thought I will not have time to tell you that you are more than a partner to me, Cowboy.”

Napoleon wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to finally sew Illya’s wound up completely after that. His mind had blanked out somewhat after Illya’s little confession. He managed, though, to check his stitches, ensured that Illya’s bandage was clean and that no blood had soaked through it. He managed to help Illya put on a new shirt and then guided him to bed, asked him to rest, but when he’s about to head out to his own room, Illya insisted that he stayed instead. Napoleon figured it might be the painkiller medication that was making Illya delirious, saying things he did not mean. But Napoleon obliged him nevertheless. Carefully, he lowered himself on the bed and laid there beside him, unmoving, with his eyes never once leaving Illya. Perhaps conscious that he was being watched, Illya then turned, his back now facing his partner. They stayed silent until Napoleon noticed Illya was trembling a little. Without thinking much, he moved to wrap his arms around Illya from behind and held him until his breathing evened out and his shaking subsided. 

“You are more to me than just a partner too,” Napoleon later whispered, admitting to something he’d probably known for some time but hadn’t dreamed of ever saying it out loud. Illya could interpret his words however he wanted, but for now, Napoleon didn’t really care. What mattered was he still had Illya with him. 

Taking a deep breath, Napoleon tightened his hold on him.

“Illya? You hear me? You believe me, don’t you?”

Illya remained stock still. Silent. Perhaps he was mulling Napoleon’s words while staring at the wall in front of him. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep? 

Sighing, Napoleon was about to pull away when Illya scooted back a little and grabbed Napoleon’s hands that had been holding him and gripped it hard, pressing their entwined fingers against his chest. Napoleon, although startled, welcomed the contact, welcomed his touch. He welcomed the unsaid message Illya was trying to tell him. Napoleon understood at that moment words were not what they needed but each other. Words were too heavy to come, so he simply let the silence take over them.


	5. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya had made some stupid mistakes in his life, but this was the worst of them all.

“This is all your fault,” Illya hissed.

Napoleon frowned as they hurried down an endless hallway in the THRUSH mansion. Getting invited to their enemy’s party had been easy, but fleeing the scene after a little mishap was proving a wee bit difficult for Napoleon. Especially when there’s one angry Russian breathing down his neck.

“My cover being blown prematurely wasn’t entirely my fault. You should know this. You were there,” he responded as calmly as he could.

Hearing it, Illya only rolled his eyes, trying his best not to lose his temper. Of course, he was at fault too, but admitting to it wasn’t going to help their cause. And just thinking about what had happened made his blood boil as he turned towards his partner.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his tone reaching new heights of exasperation. “I’m talking about this.”

He lifted their joined wrists that were handcuffed together, the chains clinking at the motion Illya was making. Napoleon sighed dramatically and pursed his lips, before pulling their arms down.

“This,” he jostled the handcuff chain, “is merely a temporary inconvenience.”

“Temporary inconvenience?!” Illya almost shrieked. “How so?”

“The cuffs were supposed to come out until after I had pulled a confession out from our mark,” Napoleon said, throwing Illya an intimidating glance. “And I almost had him until you decided to ruin everything. This is actually all your fault.”

Illya managed to exhale a breathy laugh even as they picked up their pace again. He hated when Napoleon was right. Yes, he had ruined it because he didn’t like the idea of Napoleon being cuffed to the bed with their mark alone in that massive master bedroom. Yes, Napoleon hadn’t been in any danger because he could clearly hear them through the audio transmitter he’d planted in Napoleon’s ring, but listening to the sounds Napoleon had emitted had made him see red. And once the rage had taken over him, there was only one thing he could do. 

“He deserved it,” Illya growled angrily at Napoleon. “We will get information another way.”

“I’m touched that you care so much about me, Peril, but while you’re too busy freeing me from the cuffs, our mark managed to get away and tricked us like two rookies on our first damn mission! You should’ve secured him first before worrying about me!”

“No matter, he won’t get very far,” Illya grumbled, though embarassed at how Napoleon’s words had rung true.

They continued on in silence, neither men wanting to speak more of the incident when Napoleon halted suddenly as they reached one of the many corners in the mansion, nearly causing Illya to bump into him. 

“What is it?” Illya asked anxiously.

Napoleon only looked over at Illya, an unreadable expression on his face. He peered around the corner and then suddenly, with one smooth motion, opened a nearby broom closet and dragged Illya inside it with him.

“What are you...?” Illya started but he was cut off by two things; Napoleon’s free hand covering his mouth and Napoleon’s body pressing firmly against his.

A few breathless seconds soon passed and Illya could hear voices and footsteps as what appear to be THRUSH agents walking by their hiding place. When they faded out of earshot, Napoleon slowly removed his hand, but didn’t step away. Their bodies were still so close together. Illya could feel Napoleon’s heartbeat, just this side of erratic and he’s instantly reminded of the time when Napoleon had stayed the night and held him after he’d gotten shot. He remembered what they had said to each other. They had never discussed what had happened but the memory would be forever stuck in Illya’s mind. When his thoughts returned to the present, Illya noticed that even in the darkened room, he could see the flush rising on Napoleon’s cheeks. He could see his eyes, nose, his lips. Only a stupid person would not think Napoleon as beautiful and there were no other words to describe him right at that very moment. 

“Peril?”

If Illya had given it more thought, he would have heard Napoleon calling him and would not have leaned forward, bringing his head down, hair almost brushing against Napoleon’s face. He wouldn’t have seen Napoleon’s gaze slowly flicking between his eyes and his mouth. But Illya wasn’t thinking and the entire moment made his breath catch. Inwardly, he knew this was the absolute wrong time for this, whatever it was, but damn, the pull was too strong, Illya couldn’t resist it.

Their lips came closer together and Illya let his eyes slipped close.

“They’re gone. We should go,” Napoleon murmured suddenly, breaking Illya’s trance. When Illya opened his eyes, Napoleon had backed away as far as the handcuffs would allow him and before Illya had time to breathe normally and recover from the untimely tension, he was once again dragged out into the hallway.

Frustrated and confused, Illya picked up his pace to keep up with Napoleon, who was suddenly moving with all the speed of a lithe cat. It was like he’s trying to run away from him. Illya cursed underneath his breath. He’d made some stupid mistakes in his life, but almost kissing Napoleon was the worst, and he could only hope Napoleon would forget and completely wipe it off his mind.


	6. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon managed to free their handcuffed wrists though Illya was annoyed he hadn’t done it sooner. But he couldn’t complain because now they had bigger problems to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is a direct continuation from the previous one :)

Escaping the mansion was proving to be harder than they expected. Luckily Napoleon had freed them from the cuffs though Illya was annoyed he hadn’t done it sooner. But he couldn’t complain because now they had bigger problems to face. Four men armed with guns stood at the end of the hallway blocking the exit they needed to get to. And through his peripheral vision, he saw another two appear from the other end, bracketing them with nowhere to go.

“Hmm, how shall we do this?” Napoleon murmured quietly next to him.

Illya just shrugged. A tiny nod between them and then the shooting started. Napoleon managed to take out the two THRUSHIES behind them but the ones near their getaway point were quick to find cover. Knowing they needed to save their ammo, Illya quickly tugged at Napoleon’s arm and they retreated back down the hallway before flattening themselves against the wall. Napoleon drew down his pistol. A large glass window a couple of feet away from them was their best chance of escaping.

“Remember Rome? Don’t hurt your hip like the last time, Peril.”

Illya didn’t bother to ask what Napoleon meant because he was having the same thoughts as well. Without saying a word, he grabbed Napoleon again by his arm and dashed towards the window. A bullet whizzed past him. Cocking his gun, Illya turned and fired a few response shots at their assailants who were fast approaching them. Illya’s bullets found its targets and he saw their bodies fell before hearing sounds of glass shattering and Napoleon’s shouts telling him to jump. The next thing Illya knew, his body was already hitting the grass below. Still wary of the danger lurking, he rolled onto his back and fired a couple of more shots just to ensure no one was jumping out of the window after them. But suddenly Napoleon hands were clenching tight on his jacket and he was being hauled up to his feet.

“We’ve got to go!”

Illya nodded and scrambled away after his partner. Heart pumping on adrenaline, they made it through the backyard hoping to find cover in the small woods behind the mansion. Once safe enough, Illya quickly alerted Gaby about their ‘little’ incident with THRUSH and after getting an earful from her, they’re given a new rendezvous point which was a few miles further off from the original location.

“Gaby needed to be sure that we’re not being followed,” Illya explained to Napoleon who’s relatively quiet. They trudged on until at one point Napoleon called out to Illya who was just ahead of him.

“Peril, wait,” he gasped. “I need a breather.”

Illya at once stopped and eyed Napoleon worriedly.

“Are you all right?”

He walked up to him, eyes raking over the American to see whether he’d been hurt and quickly noticed he was bleeding through his right sleeve. Cursing himself for not realising it sooner, Illya rolled the torn clothing up, revealing Napoleon’s wound and his eyes widened at what he’s seeing.

“You should’ve told me.”

Napoleon argued that it was only a bullet graze, but it was really starting to hurt, and for it to get infected was the last thing Illya wanted. Ignoring Napoleon’s quiet protests, Illya immediately tended to his injured arm, using a strip of cloth from his torn shirt as a makeshift bandage. The wound, of course, needed to be cleaned first but there wasn’t time. And while he was working on it with hands that were too gentle, Napoleon couldn’t help the warmth that was spreading inside his chest looking at his partner before him.

Illya was being Illya.

Each and every time Napoleon’s left in awe of how this same ruthless KGB agent, who had once tore the back off his car and tossed it at him like it was nothing, could be so careful and tender with his touches at the same time. What he’d read about Illya in his files; the psychotic rages and his angry episodes, one would think the KGB had only purported lies about him. But after working with the Russian and experiencing both sides of the man, Napoleon had learned to look beyond Illya’s angry simmering frowns and glares. He’d looked past his insatiable rage. Illya was human and the most beautiful person he had ever known.

“Illya.”

Hearing his name, Illya looked up, eyes meeting Napoleon’s gaze. His hands immediately stopped working on his arm.

“What?”

“We need to talk.”

Illya’s heart skipped a beat. At the idea of their imminent confrontation, Illya tried to control the tremor that’s threatening to overcome him. He straightened himself, tried to look unpertubed. But despite his nerves, his gaze was resolute on Napoleon’s face and then to where he was holding Napoleon’s right wrist.

“I’m sorry for my earlier behaviour in the mansion. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Napoleon’s words caught Illya off guard. He wasn’t at fault. He needn’t apologise for it because it was Illya who had succumbed to his moment of weakness. But was Napoleon saying sorry because he had wanted the kiss to happen? Or was he just curious to see how Illya would react? It’d be worse if he was apologising just so he could mock him later. 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Illya said hurriedly before Napoleon could say anything else and with pride getting in his way, all Illya could offer in the end was, “just forget it, Cowboy,” before tearing at the bandage on Napoleon’s wounded arm abruptly, making him wince. Illya then let go of his hold on Napoleon and turned his attention on the path in front of them.

“Let’s go. Gaby will be waiting for us.”

Illya’s readiness to simply ignore the matter had surprisingly hurt Napoleon more than he’s willing to admit. He was expecting for some kind of explanation, needed Illya to give him a reason for that few seconds of madness when their bodies were pressed up together in that confined space. 

But, unfortunately, it never came.

They continued to walk in grating silence until it got a little hard for Napoleon to take.

“Look, Peril, what happened back then...”

“...was a mistake. That was all it was,” Illya cut him off, finishing Napoleon’s sentence.

Napoleon would beg to differ, but if it hadn’t been for his own stupidity, they wouldn’t be having that argument at all.


	7. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby was too clever to believe Napoleon’s lies. She had long read between the lines of the boys’ relationship and when it came to the matters of the heart, they were hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the_worrying_kind for betaing this chapter. You are the best!

When Napoleon woke, it was almost eleven in the morning. The warm sun rays were filtering through his drawn curtains. He knew he should get off his bed but was too lazy to do so considering he was technically on a vacation. Waverly had given them four weeks’ ‘leave’ after the fiasco of their last mission, and although the reasons weren’t something he was proud of, he had welcomed his superior’s decision. After what had happened with Illya, Napoleon especially needed some space from him.

Gaby, on the other hand, didn’t think it was a good idea and was too intuitive for her own good. 

“I think you need to talk to him.”

She had invited him for lunch at his favourite restaurant just a couple of blocks from his apartment, and while waiting for their orders, she had decided to talk about something Napoleon had hoped to avoid. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses, but he was sure her gaze was fixed on him.

“You want to talk about what happened last week?”

“What about last week?” Napoleon asked innocently.

Gaby sighed at her friend and leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Illya, but after that last mission, he has been avoiding you like the plague. And you haven’t spoken to him since our last mission debrief with Waverly.”

“I don’t see any reason why he should be avoiding me,” Napoleon replied with nonchalance. His eyes scanned the rather large lunch crowd in the restaurant, suddenly suspicious if Illya was there watching them before turning his attention to Gaby once again. “And we’re on leave. There’s no real need for me to pick the phone up and call Peril just to start a conversation.”

Gaby groaned loudly and rolled her eyes at him. 

“Are you both still going to pretend that you don’t care about each other?”

The problem with Gaby’s innate ability to read them was that she was always too close to the truth. Napoleon couldn’t vouch for Illya, of course, but she was certainly right about him. He cared too much for the Russian. And like always, the current problem between Illya and him, had been entirely of Napoleon’s own making. But he wasn’t going to admit it to Gaby. He wasn’t going to tell her how Illya had almost kissed him and how he’d backed away from it completely terrified. 

So, in the end, he could only deflect her accusations by giving her an indignant huff, a low murmur of _‘I have no idea know what you’re on about’._ But Gaby was too clever to believe his lies. She had long read between the lines of their relationship and, as far as she was concerned, the two of them were children when it came to the matters of the heart. The many months of them working together with UNCLE had somehow convinced her of this and what was happening currently was proof enough.

“I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“Gaby, don’t. You’re just reaching.”

Gaby cocked her head, taking no heed of Napoleon’s warning. “Am I?”

“Yes, because we’re just good friends.”

Napoleon couldn’t help the edge of bitterness that had crept into his voice when he’d said it. He wished there were more to it but there was nothing to suggest that their relationship could be more than just that; a friendship. The near-kiss moment hadn’t count and Napoleon had conceded the point the moment Illya had said it was a mistake. But unfortunately, it hadn’t stopped the indignant memory of Illya and him from constantly invading his thoughts day in and day out. And sometimes, in his dreams, Napoleon was bold enough to let Illya go through with the kiss. 

Gaby didn’t know any of that, and she didn’t need to know, so it was better to let her come to her own conclusions. But seconds later, she dropped a bombshell which almost made Napoleon choke on his drink.

“Illya doesn’t think that you’re just good friends though. I spoke to him.”

Napoleon’s eyes widened. “He talked to you?”

“He says there is more between the two of you but he can’t define what it is. He says you’re impossible just to be friends with.”

“I don’t see why he’s making such a fuss over this,” Napoleon said, obstinate to the end.

“And I can’t understand why you’re being so damn stubborn about it either,” Gaby countered.

“We are mere colleagues, Gaby. Partners who work on missions together. It’s as simple as that.”

“But, in our line of job, we don’t do simple, Solo.”

Gaby’s large sunglasses had come off and her expression on him was implacable. She was pushing for more and Napoleon finally caved.

“Okay, if you must know, Illya and I have a complex, working relationship,” he said, then realising she might have read that as something else when she grinned at him, as if what he’d admitted was everything she’d wanted to hear. 

“I’m aware,” she replied, maybe a little dryly, and then just let out a defeated sigh before reaching out to grab his hand. “Look, I don’t want to intrude, Solo, but I love you both, stupidly enough, and I just want to make sure that things are okay between you two.”

“Gaby, things are okay and no matter what you might think, no matter what Illya might’ve said to you, I’m actually really happy working with him.” 

A sudden absent smile lit up his face and Napoleon couldn’t stop the next few words from leaving his mouth. 

“While I’ve always said I worked better alone, having Illya as a partner is something else. He’s the Red Peril, a tremendous agent and absolutely devastating on the field, though his rigid ways drive me crazy sometimes. But despite that, he’s the best person I could ever imagine working with and for as long as Waverly wants us, for as long as Illya wants me, then I don’t want our partnership to end either. It would be absolutely devastating if I were to lose it. If I were to lose him.”

Napoleon had meant it in the most platonic way possible but Gaby simply gaped at him. Hearing Napoleon’s glowing words on Illya was like hearing some sort of a love confession and considering how hard it was to get anything from the man previously, her eyes were starting to fill up with tears of happiness.

Napoleon noticed it at once and was almost worried he had somehow upset her. 

“Gaby? I hope I was clear enough?”

“Crystal,” she answered, beaming. Then, because it was obvious what Napoleon was doing but he was stupid enough not to see it, Gaby added in plainly, “and as a friend, I’m telling you, Solo, don’t run from him.” 

Napoleon’s face flushed hard. She had read him like an open book. 

“I’m not.”

Gaby gave him the force of her full on glare. “Good. Because if you do, I’ll hunt you down, Solo.”

Napoleon wanted to argue, wanted to say _‘you better make sure Peril doesn’t run either’_ but was interrupted by their waiter arriving with their orders. Taking it as a sign to not get his hopes up for nothing, he decided it was best not to say anything at all.

—

At the other end of the restaurant, at a well-hidden corner, Illya poured himself another glass of drink. Staring out on the street, he wondered if his personal pride was worth hiding what he’s feeling for Napoleon. His stubborn decision, if not more so than Napoleon’s, was clearly hurting them. Hearing Napoleon through his bugs on Gaby earlier was enough for him to understand this. 

But how should he approach the man? Through a mere apology? Would it even work? 

_“I’m sorry, Cowboy, I should have told you the truth. I should have told you all those times when we were together that we cannot be just friends. That I want us to be more than just friends. And what almost happened, wasn’t a mistake at all. I lied.”_

No matter what he did, Illya couldn’t push Napoleon away. And he needed to do something about it before he lost his nerve, even if he had to face Cowboy’s teasing. 

Illya would do it while he still had the chance. 

Making himself a promise, Illya left the premise while throwing his unsuspecting friends a glance and smiled.


	8. Lifeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya’s best plan for the day was ruined when he received a call from Waverly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to the_worrying_kind for betaing this chapter. I could not have done this without you :)

Illya had planned everything. He was going to turn up at Napoleon’s apartment unannounced that morning, hoping the element of surprise would work in his favour since seeing Illya at his doorstep would be the last thing on Napoleon’s mind. Therefore, once he was rendered speechless, Illya would bulldoze his way in. Maybe even pull Napoleon in his arms and kiss him hard, just in case words decided to leave him. By doing so, Napoleon would then understand everything Illya had failed to say all those times he had tried telling or showing Napoleon how he really felt for the man.

At least, that had been Illya’s best plan, until he’d received the call from Waverly.

Thinking his leave was cut short due to some urgent mission, Illya had no other choice but to rush to HQ. But by the time Waverly had laid out everything, all Illya could do was stare at the documents in his trembling hands.

“I am released...from KGB?”

Waverly simply nodded. “Yes. And so is Solo from the CIA, though getting his release proved to be a lot trickier than I’d expected. But we managed to pull it off.”

Illya could not believe what he was hearing.

“The CIA actually allowed this?”

Waverly frowned at Illya for a moment. It was intriguing to him that the Russian was more concerned for the American’s situation rather than his own.

“It’s a done deal, Kuryakin.”

Illya felt like he was in a dream. His eyes flicked back and forth between Waverly and the papers, his thoughts all over the place. 

“What happens now?” Illya asked then. 

“What happens is UNCLE would like to offer you both positions as full-fledged agents.”

“And if we refuse?”

Illya even surprised himself with the question, but it was the first thing that struck his mind. It seemed like they had a choice.

“UNCLE will not have anyone who does not want to work with us. This is clear. But it would be a shame if we were to let you both go. You and Solo have proved to us your effectiveness in the field as partners, of course, putting aside those rare incidents like the last mission. But it is to be expected. We can’t all be perfect, can we?”

Illya seemed unperturbed. He wanted Waverly to get to his point. And Waverly understood him straightaway.

“What I’m trying to say is that we feel you both will be invaluable to us. We have worked hard for your release ever since Istanbul. It was a delicate matter from the start, especially Solo’s considering how he was captured by the CIA and then forced to work for them. But the matter is finalised and all the details of the conditions of your release, and our offer, are in the documents for you to go through.”

_The conditions of your release._

Those were the words that stood out, those were the words that rang in Illya’s ears. Perhaps everything wasn’t as clear cut as Waverly had made it seem? 

“What did Solo say? About the offer?” he whispered then, almost afraid to ask.

Waverly smiled. _Still thinking of his American counterpart_ , he mused, before answering, “He’s considering it.”

In the KGB, Illya was trained to suppress his emotions. Matters of his country had to always be above matters of the heart. Of how he felt. But now, with this news Waverly had dropped on him, Illya couldn’t hide the feeling that was starting to spread in his chest and coursing through his veins. His heart was in his throat. Napoleon could leave, start a totally new life of his own but then what? What would happen to this thing that had been brewing between them? With a hasty thanks, Illya got up from his chair and abruptly left the office without saying another word to Waverly.

He needed to find Napoleon, and he needed to find him quick.

 

—

 

Napoleon caught sight of Illya about two blocks away from where he was standing. Even from that distance, his partner stood out from the crowd, all tall and menacing, and Napoleon was sure Illya’s hands that were shoved into his pockets, were clenched into fists. 

Smiling to himself, Napoleon allowed Illya to follow him until Napoleon stopped at a juncture of an alleyway between two old apartment buildings. He turned to look at Illya for a moment before disappearing into the alley. And it took about ten seconds for Illya to appear around the corner as Napoleon waited for him against the dirty bricked wall of the building. Despite everything he had felt and thought in the preceding hour, he felt a warm current ran through his body at the sight of Illya before him. The Russian’s cheeks were flushed and he was catching his breath. Obviously he had run all the way, worried perhaps that Napoleon would give him the slip.

“Hello,” Napoleon said while giving Illya a little wave. “You’re losing your touch.”

“You wish, Cowboy,” Illya grunted, annoyed, and just like that Napoleon realised how ridiculous it was trying to stop himself from wanting what he had always wanted. And that was Illya. Napoleon always figured those thoughts of him would cease, that it was just a momentary thing, but he couldn’t teach his brain to stop wanting what his heart continued to long for.

It was ridiculous to fall for Illya, but now that he was there, Napoleon couldn’t imagine feeling anything else for the damn Russian.

“I assume you want to talk about Waverly’s news,” Napoleon finally said after pulling himself together. He kept his gaze on Illya, unwavering, head cocked to the side. “Isn’t that why you followed me? To discuss matters? Or is there something else that you wanted?”

“Is not an easy thing to say what I want. And I think this goes the same for you.”

Napoleon thought he was being clever but obviously, he wasn’t going to outfox Illya that day. He suddenly wished he could go back to a time when everything he was thinking was not written clearly on his face. Or maybe Illya had learned him well enough by now that Illya was being so perceptive of everything that Napoleon did, even more so than Napoleon himself.

“You got me there, Peril. You’ve cornered me with nowhere to go.”

“Good. Because if I let you go, you will run again.”

Napoleon fumed for a second and thought about leaving Illya there and then but it wouldn’t achieve anything. Besides, he couldn’t leave whatever it was between them hanging in the air again. After his talk with Gaby, things were clearer, so Napoleon had to stand his ground and not get sucked into a mind game Illya was trying to play.

“I was never running away from you. And it was you who’d said that it was a mistake. Not me.”

Illya shook his head. Yes, that imminent talk between them was important but now, he had something else on his mind that couldn’t wait.

“About Waverly, about what he told us,” Illya cut to the chase.

“Yes?”

“Will you accept his offer?”

And then, before Napoleon could comprehend it, Illya moved forward right up to his personal space. Napoleon held his breath, thinking about what was going on in Illya’s head. Illya’s question didn’t warrant this kind of bold behaviour from him but Illya might just lean in and kiss Napoleon then, press him up against the wall and Napoleon would not object at all. But Illya wasn’t doing any of those things. He was merely standing there, an intimidating presence before him. 

Napoleon didn’t know how long had passed with them watching the other under the dim lights of the narrow alley. It was late noon and Napoleon could hear, besides the thumping beat of his own heart, the hustling and bustling of the city from the nearby streets. He could hear people walking by, going about their normal uneventful lives when there he was with Illya, out of sight from prying eyes, doing exactly what? Napoleon could not explain it. At some point, he shifted just a bit on his feet and Illya moved as well. That moment brought them out of their stupor and Napoleon was the first to break the silence.

“We will talk. About UNCLE’s offer. And about us. But not here.”

Illya nodded quietly. This was true because they couldn’t discuss something as important as their future in that alley. So, they both agreed to go to Napoleon’s apartment instead. After a long quiet walk, they finally reached his front door and once inside, Napoleon offered Illya a drink after he had made himself comfortable on Napoleon’s sofa. But the Russian simply refused. He wanted to get straight to the point.

“Will you take the offer?” Illya repeated his earlier question from the alley and Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

“You seem eager. Does it matter if I don’t?”

“Napoleon…” Illya warned. “ _Please_ , I need to know.”

Napoleon tried to ignore the quickening of his pulse at the way Illya had said his name, at the way he was pressing for an answer. Napoleon understood Illya was desperate to hear it just as Napoleon was desperate to hear Illya’s own. 

“Look, Peril, admittedly, I don’t mind the spying business. It was my handlers that I hated. The CIA. Sanders. But with UNCLE, it’s different. I have Gaby. And I have you. I have people that I trust watching my back. But knowing it was all temporary and that they could take me back in a heartbeat scared me,” he paused as he sucked in a breath. Taking his seat in front of Illya on the coffee table, Napoleon eyed him for a moment before mulling the words he wanted to say. “If they take me, I will lose everything. I will lose _you_.”

“You mean my friendship?” 

The way Illya said it came out so innocently, Napoleon didn’t think he could love Illya more.

“That’s not so easy to define, is it?” he asked. “This friendship you mentioned?”

Illya sighed. “Friendship,” he then admitted, “was never an option from the beginning with us.”

“It’s true. You said this yourself to Gaby. You can’t even define what _this_ is between us.”

Illya’s gut tightened. Of course, Gaby had told Napoleon this. He had listened in on them and she had not spared any details.

“Illya?”

Illya noticed Napoleon was leaning in closer as he waited for Illya’s answer, the one that he couldn’t even give Gaby. And Illya couldn’t deny him any longer.

“What happened in the mansion, I said it was a mistake,” Illya sputtered, finally. “But I...I was wrong.”

Illya couldn’t handle Napoleon’s questioning gaze after his little admission. He tried to avert his eyes but Napoleon's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Cowboy, I…”

“Look, Illya, I was wrong too, for the way I behaved after,” Napoleon interjected softly. “I know that you said you didn’t want to talk about it, and because I valued our partnership above everything else, I left it alone. But I shouldn’t have. I should’ve pressed the matter. Speaking to Gaby made me realise things about us. And after what she told me, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. And now UNCLE is giving us a lifeline. How could we throw this all away?”

_A lifeline? We? Us?_

Of course, Napoleon would know just what to say. He was always better than Illya in that department, always good at putting forth thoughts and words. And even if the day had started out with Illya planning everything, it was Napoleon that had laid the final cards down. Now, what Illya needed to do was make the next move. He needed to tell Napoleon that he had accepted his attraction and resigned his feelings for the American a long time ago. But again, his plans were foiled; foiled by Napoleon’s hands cupping his face and his lips descending on Illya’s own. 

And just like that, all of Illya’s words died in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming to an end, this! Perhaps there'll be another two chapters before the story concludes. <3  
> Thanks again to everyone for reading and leaving kind comments and kudos. I really do appreciate it :D Keeps me going!


	9. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whenever Napoleon dreamt of freedom, he dreamt of being free of his shackles. Of escaping his leash. Now, however, he’d been given the opportunity to make it come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks so much to the_worrying_kind for checking my work. Can’t have done it without your help.
> 
> Note : There is smut in this chapter, so you know. :P

Whenever Napoleon dreamt of freedom, he dreamt of being free of his shackles. Of escaping his leash. He had his security blanket; valuables acquired during his thieving days stored in his safe houses, money stashed in foreign bank accounts opened under various aliases. He could disappear with them and never look back. Running away from the CIA wouldn’t be easy, but it was not impossible. He could create a new life. Start afresh.

But, somehow, it had always been just that; a dream. Leaving the game for him had been a distant possibility. Now, however, he’d been given the opportunity to make it come true.

When Waverly had broken the news to him, Napoleon could not believe it. It had confounded him; left him clueless as to what to do. What had UNCLE done, who had they contacted to secure his pardon from the CIA? It had made him wonder the favours Waverly had asked for in order for them to achieve something he never thought possible.

When he’d held the release papers in his hands, Napoleon remembered thinking how powerful Waverly’s influences must be among the intelligence community. He had learned to never underestimate the mild-mannered British man. Because underneath all that calm and cool exterior was definitely a person not to be messed with. He didn’t want to question Waverly’s motives, but did it mean he now owed UNCLE and Waverly his allegiance? 

_You could work for UNCLE._

Those had been Waverly’s words. Napoleon knew UNCLE’s politics were nothing like the CIA’s, yet they played the same game. But it could be better for him. If he were to leave, he had no qualms that Sanders would be waiting for him. Napoleon could not imagine the man being happy with the news. Napoleon still had five years left for the CIA and he was certain Sanders would do anything to ensure Napoleon would ultimately serve his jail sentence, or maybe meet an even worse fate.

Another reason that had made it difficult for him to say no to Waverly was Illya. Napoleon was too fond of the man, and his fondness had evolved into an intense feeling Napoleon was too afraid to name. Illya had slipped under his skin and wormed his way into his heart. And to think he would never see Illya again if they were to go their separate ways, to think they wouldn’t have each other’s backs when the time came for it...Napoleon couldn’t fathom the possibility.

Once he had thanked Waverly, and told him he would consider the offer, Napoleon had left UNCLE’s office. He had let his feet carry him through the streets, past throngs of people as his thoughts continued to swirl in his head. At times, he had continued walking in a mindless daze. Unthinking. Until he had spotted that tall familiar figure tailing him.

Illya.

And just seeing the man had helped Napoleon make his choice.

_Damn it, the reason had always been Illya._

“Napoleon.”

A low voice calling his name returned him to the present. And he found those familiar blue eyes staring at him intently.

“Peril?”

“You kissed me.”

Of course, Napoleon had kissed Illya. He had been meaning to ever since...well, Napoleon couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when his feelings for the Russian had changed because it didn’t matter anymore. He had taken the first step. And now Illya was watching him disbelievingly, perhaps surprised by his boldness? If only Illya knew how it had taken all of Napoleon’s courage to do so.

“I do not think you could’ve mistaken what I’d done for anything else,” he finally managed the words after a while and soon a tiny grin was playing at the edges of Illya’s lips.

When Napoleon moved his hands that had been cupping Illya’s face, Illya caught one of his wrists. His other hand curved around Napoleon’s waist, stopping him from getting too far without restraining him too much.

“Cowboy,” Illya began, voice low but firm like a warning. “Remember when I said you are more than just a partner to me? I meant it. And I want not just kisses. Not just for today or this moment. I want it forever. I cannot lose this now. Not after today. Not after this.”

“And I meant it too, Peril. I cannot lose you.”

Without saying another word, Napoleon reached down to grab Illya’s face again and bring him in for another kiss, showing Illya exactly what he’d meant. This time Illya returned it hungrily, pulling Napoleon in until he could feel every inch of Illya’s body flush against his. Not to be outdone, Napoleon moved his legs to the outside of Illya’s thighs, straddling him properly, feeling the heat building between them. At the back of Napoleon’s mind, he knew this was not supposed to happen now. They were supposed to discuss their future and feelings, take their time, but somehow, their plans had seriously derailed.

“Napoleon.”

Breaking off the kiss, Illya raised a hand to the corner of Napoleon’s mouth, gently touching his lips with trembling fingers before dropping his hand away. But Napoleon did not need a respite. Eagerly, he pushed Illya back against the sofa, hands never leaving the Russian’s shoulders as he crowded into Illya’s space and started kissing him again.

Illya did not protest at Napoleon’s sudden assertiveness but merely spurred him on by wrapping his arms around Napoleon’s back, then lifting his thighs to press them along the outside of his own waist. Illya demanded more. _Needed_ more.

And Napoleon gave Illya what he wanted.

They kissed and kissed, moaning and grunting, both giving in to their desires that had been long locked deep inside within them for god knows how long. For a brief second, Napoleon wondered why they hadn’t done this sooner. Illya tasted divine, but the wait definitely had made it that much sweeter.

When it got to the point where Illya’s hands were reaching for the hem of his shirt, Napoleon disentangled himself from Illya. Hiding his flushed face at the crook of Illya’s neck, Napoleon couldn’t help but kiss the stripe of skin that was there for his taking. When he finally looked up, he was sure his eyes were as dark as Illya’s.

“I need you to be sure,” Illya took that moment to say this but Napoleon only looked at him like he’d gone mad.

“Fuck, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life but for _this_. For _you_. Have I not make myself clear?”

Illya’s heart lurched at the sincerity of Napoleon’s words. And understanding he was only being plain stupid to even ask the question, he then growled, “just let me touch you.”

Napoleon couldn’t care less what Illya wanted to do to him lest it made them both happy. And just being there, as close as they had ever been, with their bodies touching everywhere; Napoleon felt like he was getting drunk by it. And his body was stirring in response to Illya’s touches, he was certain Illya could feel it too.

“Don’t tease me,” Napoleon murmured against Illya’s parted mouth. “Because god help me if you do…”

“I am not,” Illya cut Napoleon off, making himself clear.

Not wanting to waste further time, Napoleon quickly rolled them around on the sofa and was now on top of Illya. They were going to ruin this piece of furniture by the end of god-knows-what they were going to do, but Napoleon couldn’t care less. He could buy another, maybe even get Illya to come along with him to choose one. But for now, all that could wait.

Lifting Illya’s arms over his head, Napoleon then took off that damn turtleneck that always drove him crazy and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. He kept Illya’s hands pinned above his head and seeing the man stretched out underneath him made Napoleon’s heart skip a few beats. Illya looked delicious. His eyes were full of desire and maybe even love, Napoleon couldn’t believe it was actually happening.

“What now, Cowboy?” Illya whispered like a challenge.

Napoleon simply ran a hand on Illya’s bare stomach, not bothering to answer his question. Stopping him from asking more questions, Napoleon leaned forward to crush their lips together again. Illya could only kiss Napoleon back, and though he was terribly aware of Napoleon’s hand pulling at the buckle of his belt, he didn’t do anything at all to stop him.

Everything else that happened after was a blur.

Illya couldn’t explain how Napoleon’s open shirt was barely hanging off his shoulders and the next minute he was minutely moving against Illya with their cocks deliciously aligned together in Napoleon’s firm grip. And everything else; from the touch right up to the feel of their bodies against each other, brought a delicious groan from Illya’s parted lips. Napoleon shivered upon hearing it, the sound alighting every little nerve in his body. Like he was hypnotised, Napoleon needed to hear Illya make that noise again or he would go crazy. He ground his body down harder, shifting and pressing upward and with every move, the feel of his cock and Illya’s, left him reeling. He needed this.

“Illya, don’t ever leave me,” he suddenly sobbed like a plea, because that was what he was scared of; the fear of losing all that was good to him, the fear of losing the one person he cared for most in the world. But Illya was quick to dispel his notion with one simple word.

“Never.”

And then it was his turn to plead, repeating his words from before. 

“Napoleon, _please_ , let me touch you.”

Napoleon groaned. He couldn’t say anything because Illya had broken free from his hold and Illya’s large hands quickly slid down Napoleon’s sides and then began grabbing and kneading his buttocks, hard. Napoleon gasped at the touch. They were grinding harder now until Napoleon was seeing stars.

“Fuck,” he cursed and dug his fingers hard into Illya’s shoulders, his nails leaving crescent marks on Illya’s skin,

Illya’s hands were up and down his back now and he was encouraging Napoleon to move faster. Napoleon straightened himself and gripped their cocks harder, started thrusting more frantically with his head thrown back, groaning at the exquisite feeling. 

Illya’s body was, oh, so perfect.

And his cock. And the way Illya was holding him.

_Anchoring him._

Napoleon couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Fuck!” he cried as he arched, trembling, and then he was coming in a hot delicious rush all over Illya’s torso without warning. He was shaking, his cock spilling over and over, and if Illya’s strong hands weren’t holding him upright, Napoleon was sure he would have fallen off the sofa, all weak limbed and sated. He was a little embarrassed that he had come too soon, but he couldn’t have stopped it even if he had wanted to.

It had felt good, _so, so good._

“Oh God, Illya, that was amazing,” Napoleon moaned throatily.

But that was all he could say and it was the last thing that his hazy mind could process before he was being flipped over and manhandled against the cushions. Ilya was on top of him now, hands shaking, and desperate.

“Let me feel you a bit more,” Illya moaned and he was thrusting his still throbbing cock on Napoleon’s abdomen, and not long after, Napoleon could feel Illya coming too, could feel the sudden rush of hot wet on his still scorching skin as Illya thrust and rode through a climax that wrecked him, and that unbelievably wrung another round of pleasure from Napoleon’s limp insatiable body.

Lost in bliss, they later lay across the sofa all destroyed and filthy. Their harsh breathing was loud and it was all that they could hear in the damp stillness of the room. Napoleon tried to pull himself together but his palpitating heart felt like it was about to burst. Even if all they had done was rut against each other, he didn’t think he’d ever experienced anything like it with anyone before. And he wouldn’t want to with anyone else ever again.

“You’ve ruined me, Peril. And you’ve ruined me for anyone else,” Napoleon groaned and clenched his eyes shut. When he opened them again he realised his head was slightly tipped over the edge of the sofa. Illya had literally turned Napoleon’s world over, making his head spin.

Napoleon wanted to move but Illya’s weight was pinning him down and he himself was too wrung out to do anything else. He only managed to bring one arm up around Illya’s neck, his fingers lazily threading through Illya’s sweaty hair. Napoleon couldn’t tell how long they had lain like that when suddenly he felt Illya mouthing against his arched neck.

“Cowboy,” Illya murmured as he pulled Napoleon up by his shoulders, kissing him tenderly on the lips before saying, “you think Waverly will still want us if he sees us like this?” 

Hearing that, Napoleon couldn’t say anything at all but only let his head fall back and laugh.


	10. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After much deliberation, both Napoleon and Illya finally accepted Waverly’s offer, much to the delight of the Brit.
> 
> And after weeks, nothing utterly significant had happened.
> 
> After their first time together, after that initial confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally added this final chapter. Hope you still remember this :)
> 
> Note : And heads up, chapter is E rated.

After much deliberation, both Napoleon and Illya finally accepted Waverly’s offer, much to the delight of the Brit. 

And after weeks, nothing utterly significant had happened. 

After their first time together, after that initial confession. 

They kept going like always, kept getting assigned for missions, kept collecting intel for UNCLE, directing their efforts and channeling their energy on THRUSH, their main known enemy. They tried to remain as they had always been while on the job. Professional. One thing, however, had differed slightly. The physical dynamics between the two.

Illya would touch Napoleon more openly and freely, followed him whenever and wherever he could out on the field, and Napoleon simply let it happen. The act was risky, but then when was a spy’s life never not?

They figured they were safe enough. Gaby knew about them and she would protect them with her life. But it still did not stop her from raising her concern, alerting Illya that they ought to be more careful.

“Waverly has noticed that you boys are getting closer,” she told Illya one night after a routine debriefing session. She had pulled him aside after Waverly had left his room.

“He’s asking questions?”

“No. Not really.”

After a couple of seconds the silence between them was unnerving and Illya’s defensive instincts sparked. “Did you tell him anything?”

“Illya,” Gaby started, a little bit angry. She tilted her head up at him with a scowl. “I know Solo and you are fucking each other but be a little discreet. Be safe. That’s all I’m saying.”

Images of the last few weeks flashed through Illya’s mind like a picture show; how he had come to terms with his feelings, Napoleon’s own confession, and that night when they had first touched each other. But other than Napoleon blowing him in a sanctioned UNCLE vehicle while on a mission a week back, and then him fingering Napoleon against his bathroom sink one night, forcing his head back by the hair on his crown, whispering _’you are gorgeous’_ against Napoleon’s neck, nothing else had really happened between them. 

“I’m not fucking him,” Illya whispered harshly, looking around paranoid. It was the truth. They have not fucked. And he didn’t think Gaby could be so crude.

A rush of fear spiked in Illya’s belly suddenly, his eyes widening.

Gaby registered that look on Illya’s face because seconds later she leaned in closer, that glare of hers replaced with something softer. 

“Illya, come on. I would never tell anyone. I love you both too much.”

But then she reiterated what she had said earlier.

“But you’ve to do better. If I know, it’s only a matter of time before someone else figures it out. I don’t want it to be used against you. Or Napoleon.”

Illya thought of THRUSH and the CIA, even his former KGB handlers. And he could barely repressed a shiver at the idea of those people finding out about them.

It would rip them apart.

“You’re right,” Illya quietly conceded.

Gaby crossed her arms, eyebrows raised. “I _am_ right. And I need you both to be smart about this. I mean, I don’t think Waverly minds, but…”

“I know,” Illya responded, shaking his head, “We will be careful.” 

“I know you will,” Gaby said in the end. She placed a reassuring hand on Illya’s arm and Illya nodded at her before practically running out of the building to get Napoleon.

And that was how he had ended inside Napoleon’s apartment with no questions asked. He tried to talk to Napoleon, insisted they cooled down on what they were doing.

“Gaby is right. We need to be more discreet.”

“We have been discreet, Peril.”

“Maybe not enough if Gaby worries about us.”

But then Napoleon just hummed and then he was kissing Illya, and Illya completely forgot his earlier arguments. He knew there was no way he could stop himself from wanting to touch Napoleon, to have his arms around him. To see those eyes of his become unfocussed with pleasure.

“This is stupid, I am stupid, Cowboy. But I want you.”

“And no one’s stopping you.”

Overcame with want, Illya manhandled his lover and Napoleon cried out when Illya scratched down his thighs while also sucking particularly hard on his arousal minutes later. It’s amazing how fast Illya could disrobe him off his clothes and how dizzying it was to have himself being pinned against the wall by the giant Russian.

“God damn it, this is the complete opposite of cooling it down, Peril,” Napoleon husked, staring down into Illya’s eyes, “I’m…just…”

He was cut off, only managed to close his eyes as Illya continued bobbing his head up and down his length.

Just as he was about to come, Illya pulled off to gasp for breath and Napoleon, though annoyed, allowed it for only a moment before sticking his fingers in Illya’s mouth, watching as he latched onto them hungrily.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Napoleon muttered, realising with striking clarity that no one else could even compare to what he had with Illya now.

But he did not say it though.

Because Illya already knew this. How he had captured Napoleon; his life, and his heart.

Illya pulled off and stood up before pressing his lips to Napoleon’s parted ones, pulling him out of his reverie, whispered, “we just have to be careful.”

Napoleon leaned back against the wall, “I know, Gaby’s right. She’s always right.”

No point in arguing a known fact, Illya nipped at Napoleon’s lips again and kissed him hard and Napoleon took the kiss the only way he knew how, could taste himself on Illya’s tongue. And then he was pouring himself into the kiss, feeling everything he had never known blooming in the pit of his belly. Everytime he’s with Illya, at the back of his mind, he would wonder if it’s their last time together.

Napoleon had never experienced so many emotions around a single person before.

He shuddered.

“Come to bed with me,” Napoleon murmured when they break apart.

Illya’s heart pounded. He kept his eyes closed as he leaned their foreheads together. “Are you sure?”

Napoleon snaked a hand between them, palming at Illya while he bit him under his jaw. “Illya, I want you to fuck me. Think it’s about damn time.”

Illya wrapped an arm around Napoleon’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. “This is taking it to another level.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Gaby won’t be pleased.”

Napoleon laughed breathlessly. “Are you kidding? She made us happened, somewhat. She’ll be thrilled.”

Illya, unthinking further, shoved at Napoleon, and then they were on his bed. 

Climbing onto his lap, Illya latched onto Napoleon’s neck, biting down hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck,” Napoleon gasped, weakly grasping at Illya’s arms as Illya sucked on his skin.

Mindless minutes later, the unsettling awareness of Illya’s heartbeat dominated Napoleon’s senses. He could not even hear his own breathing, crying out quietly at the first invasive pain.

“You okay?” Illya asked.

“Go slow,” Napoleon moaned, voice soft and strained.

“I’ll take care of you,” Illya assured him, his sweaty hands coming to firmly grip at Napoleon’s broad chest.

When Illya’s completely inside him, Napoleon threw back his head and bit his lip, tried to focus on anything other than the man atop him.

“You feel so good inside me,” he breathed, forcing his hips to match Illya’s rhythm.

“Could do this forever,” Illya confessed, gripping Napoleon’s hips hard and possessive. “You could be mine.”

“But I _am_ yours, Peril,” Napoleon interjected, gasping, “you ought to know that.”

He dug his nails in Illya’s skin, in the space over his heart.

They looked at each other, not speaking. And when Napoleon spoke again, Illya hung on to his every word.

“No one makes me feel like you, Illya. No one.”

A fire ignited within Illya at the words, and he brought a hand up to the back of Napoleon’s head, gripping his soft, silken curls and forcing him to look him in the eye.

“I love you.”

With that Illya shifted up against the headboard, pressing a kiss to Napoleon’s cheekbone, and the movement forced him in deeper.

Napoleon gasped and moaned, licked his upper lip, gripping Illya’s fingers on the headboard above his head when Illya wrapped one hand around his cock, working him off in time with his ever-increasing frenzied thrusts.

“Come,” Illya commanded as he kissed Napoleon’s mouth, open and slick and desperate.

Napoleon’s hips thrust forward one last time, thighs trembling as he came and came and Illya eased him through it, toes curling in the sheets as he came too not long after. And Illya knew it before he even came down from his high, as he held onto Napoleon, that this was the best moment he had ever experienced. And he would not exchange it for anything, let alone dare to ever lose it from his grasps. 

 

—-

 

The girl they had to escort, daughter of an American ambassador to the Great Britain suspected of having links with THRUSH, was seated at the back of one of UNCLE’s truck. She had come to UNCLE, willing to spill everything about her father’s activities provided they gave her protection, and Waverly had ordered Napoleon to bring her to a designated secure location. 

“Waverly explained that she wants a new life in the States. She needs to be safe. She won’t get it being here in London.”

Illya eyed Napoleon seriously.

“You and Waverly interrogated her,” he said, crossing his arms. “Do you think we can trust her? This is not some kind of setup?”

Napoleon placed his hands on his hips, flicking his eyes between Illya and the girl who was now with Gaby, not a few feet away from them.

“She’s telling the truth.”

“Okay,” Illya replied despite himself. “Let’s set her up.”

The plan would go into effect tomorrow night. They would alert their contact in Washington once they land there and Napoleon would escort the girl all the way from the airport to the safehouse.

Illya was not nervous. Napoleon would have him and an entire squad of UNCLE’s best agents as his backup. And they have been through much more dangerous situations than this. The mission would work. Still, Illya did not wish to take any chances and never let Napoleon out of his sight even if they were still in familiar territory.

“They could have THRUSH watching her this very minute. We cannot be too certain.”

Gaby, overhearing Illya’s argument, gave him a knowing look and a snigger. Napoleon only grinned at her in return, though Illya looked murderous.

“Don’t,” he mumbled, self-conscious for a moment. 

“Didn’t say a thing,” Gaby replied as she rolled her eyes at him though certain Illya still remembered his promise he had made to her.

 

—-

 

“Solo,” he called out to Napoleon when they reached UNCLE’s parking lot at the end of the day, trying his best to ignore how gorgeous Napoleon looked when he turned around to face him.

“Peril,” Napoleon responded.

Illya had left bruises on Napoleon’s hips and inner thighs the night before and there the American was acting all cool and professional like nothing had happened. Illya’s heart instantaneously swelled at the thought. He looked around carefully, making sure they were alone.

“Want to take a drive?”

Napoleon frowned at him. “We have a big day tomorrow. We should go home. Rest.”

 _But where is home, Cowboy?_ Illya wanted to ask, but instead he only shrugged. “Well, it is just for a while. Who knows this could be our last one.”

Napoleon glanced down at the ground, hating how Illya’s trying to be all rational but could not help but chuckled softly. 

“Could be.”

Another night echoed in Illya’s mind. Another time like the night before.

“Tomorrow will be dangerous,” he stressed, “I need you to be careful.”

“I will because you’ll be there with me,” Napoleon said. He looked at Illya as he took his sunglasses off, the golden hour sunlight hitting his blue eyes perfectly.

Illya was in love.

He did not say anything for a moment. 

A silence fell between them though it’s not uncomfortable.

“Come home with me tonight,” Illya breathed, stepping close. Napoleon’s home was _with_ him. Illya knew the answer now and hoped Napoleon knew it too.

“Cowboy?”

Napoleon smiled, finally, eyes crinkling. “Well, Peril, then take me home with you.”


End file.
